


Saudade

by awkwardCerberus



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Established Relationship, Flashbacks, Galra Keith (Voltron), Gen, I tried to make it shippy, M/M, Minor Original Character(s), also he has a galra name, and has magic, and he speaks galra, background klance, keith is a total Mary Sue in this, keiths mom was a druid, thace is keith's father
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-13
Updated: 2016-11-13
Packaged: 2018-08-30 19:20:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8545990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/awkwardCerberus/pseuds/awkwardCerberus
Summary: "This spell is old magic. It will protect you on this planet, it will keep you hidden. Promise me that you won't do anything to remove it," she bent down and pressed a kiss to the top of his head, "promise me that you will stay safe. Do not tell anyone who you are or where you come from."He could feel her tears wetting his hair as she began to sob again. Her voice broke as she whispered, "promise me.""I promise, Mother." Or: His mother was one of Haggar's druids, his father was an officer in the military, and Keith is the son who must bear the burden of his heritage.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Well, you all know of my love of Galra!Keith (id sell a kidney for that to be canon. I mean the evidence is all there...wake up America) and of Klance. And since i have a galra sheith fic already....why not a klance???
> 
> Also this one has some more Galra appearance related headcanons in it, so the keith in this one will vary slightly from however i wrote him before. Why? Bc tumblr is a big place kiddos. 
> 
> All the flashbacks are from Keith's perspective, so theyre all just kind of this vague 3rd person/1st person mash up ??? Idk why i wrote them like that, but to avoid any future migraines, they're all from Keith's view and they go in ascending order (newest to oldest)
> 
> And thanks to my squadmates, Nate and Shelby, for their help with writing this (and for putting up with me writing it)

**Saudade**  
     1. a deep emotional state of nostalgic or profound  melancholic longing for an absent something or someone that one loves  
     2. a repressed knowledge that the object of longing might never return  
     3. a stronger form of saudade might be felt towards people and things whose whereabouts are unknown, such as a lost lover, or a family member who has gone missing, moved away, separated, or died 

 

  
The last memory he had of his parents was of the last time they'd ever see each other. When they left him in the middle of the Mojave when he was fourteen.

His mother was a truly beautiful woman, always hiding herself beneath the heavy druid robes and the strange mask that always unnerved him. She was in those same robes when she pulled him from his bed, but the hood was down and the mask was off. His mother's long, dark hair was pulled up and away from her face and her voice was high and shaking.

His father was an officer on the ship that had been their home for the past year. He was strong and fearless when he needed to be, but he loved his wife and son more than his own life, and did anything he could to keep them safe and happy.

He'd been woken up in the middle of the night by his mother, when the command ship was at it's quietest, when the halls were void of personnel. He was still groggy, but he could remember it so vividly, it was like it was still happening.

The corridors were empty as his father went ahead of them. They hurried to the hangar, where a pod was waiting to take them to the nearest planet. The name of the small planet was strange to pronounce, but his mother told him about in as they flew away from the ship. It was blue and green with beautiful white clouds, there was warm sunshine, and at night he could see all the stars.

Their pod landed somewhere that was dry and empty, barren desert in any direction he looked. But it was warm, and the air smelled cleaner than it had ever been on the ship. There was a small wooden house close to the ship, with a rocking chair on the porch and a small window in front. There was a light on inside, and his parents walked with him towards it.

"What are we doing in this place?" He asked when they went inside, looking around the sad little shack. He tried not to let his distaste show, "are we going to be living here?"

It was tiny compared to the apartment they had on the command ship. There was a couch and a table, a bathroom off to one side, and what could pass for a kitchen off to the other - a sink, a refrigerator, a few feet of counter, and a single burner stove that looked so old it might not even work. There was a plain, metal lamp hanging down from the ceiling, and there was an electric generator humming away in the corner.

His mother had started to cry, the tears followed the red markings down her cheeks and onto her robes. Behind her, his father put a hand on his shoulder and kissed the top of his son's forehead. His mother reached down and put a hand on the top of his head, her fingertips warm with the magic she started channeling.

Her eyes glowed whenever she used her magic and bits of black smoke came out of her hands. He'd always thought the druid's magic was beautiful, even if it was used for less than desirable things. The ancient words poured from her lips like water from a spout, and the room around him felt like it was slipping away.

His whole body seemed to vibrate, his skin prickled as though little bugs were crawling all over him, his ears rang, and his head hurt. When he looked down, his skin was a pale tan, rather than the light purple it had always been; he couldn't he feel his ears on top of his head anymore, nor could he see in the dim room like he had a few minutes ago.

"This spell is old magic. It will protect you on this planet, it will keep you hidden. Promise me that you won't do anything to remove it," she bent down and pressed a kiss to the top of his head, "promise me that you will stay safe. Do not tell anyone who you are or where you come from."

He could feel her tears wetting his hair as she began to sob again. Her voice broke as she whispered, "promise me."

"I promise, Mother," his lip started trembling as his father's hand had slipped off his shoulder and his mother took a step back, "but how come I'm not going back to the ship with you and Father?"

"You are too young to understand this now," his father finally said, tears in his own eyes, "but someday, you will be a part of something far greater than any of us can imagine."

They lingered in the doorway, taking a last look at their child.

"This is goodbye for now, my son. Be strong."

"We will always love you, Khrethir."

* * *

The shooting was getting closer, and the shouts were getting louder. Keith's hand was tightening and relaxing around the handle of his bayard out of habit; behind him, Lance craned his head over Keith's shoulder to look down the hall. The small doorway they had taken cover behind provided them with minimal protection, if that.

Lance's left arm was still tucked against his chest from when his shoulder had been dislocated earlier, but otherwise, he was fine. Keith, on the other hand, was still reeling from their last fight. He'd been rash and gotten himself slammed face-first into a wall. Black spots had been dancing around the edges of his vision for far too long, and a small stream of blood had been running into his eyes for the past few minutes.

Down the hall, soldiers shouted in Galra, making both Paladins press themselves further against the wall. Keith wiped blood from his eyes for the second time and focused on the shadows growing up the wall. He took a deep breath, ignoring the lightheadedness and the shaking in his hands; something was beginning to thrum in his ears and it was getting hard to drown that out.

He adjusted his grip on his bayard again and held up his other hand, counting down on his fingers. Three...two...

On one, Keith jumped out from behind their cover, sword flying; Lance stepped out halfway, firing round after round of covering fire.

Keith's sword slashed through one of the Galra's rifles and swung into the side of another soldier. He had to drop to his knees at the last second to avoid getting grabbed by the neck, and moving so fast almost cost him his balance.

He jumped beck up and drove his elbow into another Galra's neck, activating his particle shield and effectively slicing through into the soldier's armor. The soldier grabbed the collar on his chest plate and ended up pulling both of them down together.

Keith felt like his head was spiraling down through the floor and his stomach was in his throat. A shot echoed just above his head, and another Galra (that Keith didn't even know was there in the first place) fell down next to him. He looked over his shoulder at Lance, who gave him a strained smile and a wink.

"You take out three goons and now it's nap time?" Lance quipped, letting his bayard dissolve back into his armor and walking over to Keith.

"At least I actually engaged the enemy instead of sitting there shooting."

"Hey, you try shooting something moving all over the place with your _non-dominant_ hand, alright? It's not like it's - "

Lance's next remark was cut short by something sharp and silver suddenly sticking out of his stomach. He looked down at a blade, hand absently trying to grasp at the point before his eyes rolled back into his skull. He crumpled to the floor to Keith's right, a dark puddle spreading out from under him.

"Ohh, pity that," an airy, feminine voice cooed from down the hall. A tall, lithe Galra officer stood with one hand on her hip and the other pulling on the chain that snaked out from the hilt of her sword, "he sounded kind of cute."

The sword lurched out of Lance's side and flew back into the Galra's waiting hand. She caught it above her head, smiling wickedly from ear to ear. Lance sank into the floor like a wet rag doll, every inch of him going slack.

Keith was at Lance's side in an instant, rolling him over onto his back and pressing a hand firmly into the gushing mass of bleeding flesh on his left side. He called Lance's name for what felt like a small eternity, but he didn't even get so much as a whimper in reply.

"Like I said," she drawled again. She widened her stance, shoulders dropping forward in preparation to fight. The hand that had been on her hip was now holding the chain from her sword, spinning the end of it off to the side, "what a pity. For you, of course. Not for me. Killing one Voltron Paladin is commendable, but _two_? Zarkon himself will pin a medal—"

It felt like a floodgate had been blown open inside Keith, waves of something bloodthirsty and predatory burning its way through his veins. His skin burned like he'd been rolled in napalm, his head felt like it was going to split in half - everything all the way down to his bones stung like a million hot needles were being stabbed at him. There was blood in his mouth and something ripped open the gloves of his suit.

It was all over in a second, all the searing pain washing away into a phantom ache. Keith stood there, panting like he'd just run a marathon, and looking down at himself in horror.

Short, sharp claws jutted out of the tips of his gloves, and his tongue ran over animalistic teeth; his ears flicked attentively on the top of his head, and he could see as clearly in the dark hallway as if he was standing outside in the sun.

_This spell is old magic._

_Promise me that you won't do anything to remove it._

"Y-you can't be - but you're - " the female Glara balked, stunned, before her shock turned to anger once more. She lunged forward blade flashing in the lowlight, "what kind of cheap trick is this?!"

Keith brought up his own sword, bracing the flat of the blade against his other palm to take the weight of her charge. He shoved his bayard at her with all the strength he had, knocking her back enough for him to get in a small swipe. The tip of his bayard narrowly missed her chest and she jumped back, landing catlike on her feet.

" _You think you can just dress yourself up like a Galra, you Voltron run_ t?" She barked at him in the Galran language, barring her fangs and growling low in her throat.

It took Keith a moment to register what she'd said, his mind trying to remember syllables he hadn't heard in years. But, like they say, one never forgets their mother tongue; Keith snapped back at her in Galra - the guttural snap of the language familiar on his lips, " _you should stop talking and fight_!"

The officer spun the spiked ball on the end of the chain above her head, throwing it at Keith like a lasso. He grabbed the chain as the ball lodged itself in the wall behind him, yanking on the metal and slamming the female Galra onto the floor.

She raised her sword as Keith jumped on top of her, but he was much faster than her. He brought his bayard down into the flesh between her ribs and she screamed, strangle and frantic.

He forced the blade deeper into her chest, leaning his whole body onto this sword until the tip of it hit the floor. She looked up at him, the rage flooding from her eyes like sand in a sieve, pathetically choking out a last " _vrepit sa_ " before going dead completely.

Keith could have cared less about the body he was sitting on, he slid his sword out from the fallen officer with total indifference. He let his bayard dissolve back into his armor before sliding over to Lane on his knees.

The bleeding hadn't stopped, and Lance was paler that he'd been a few minutes ago. His breathing was shallow, and his pulse was all over the place. Keith swore loudly, and threw Lance as carefully as he could over his shoulder fireman-style. There was something warm and thick beginning to drip down the back of his neck and armor, and his stomach twisted as he tried not to focus on what it was.

In the distance, an alarm had begun a loud blaring, and Shiro called out over he comms, "Keith, where are you? The fighters are pulling back to the ships; they're gonna wormhole out of here."

"I'm trying to get to Red, but Lance is hurt really bad. He's lost a lot of blood. I'll have to take him in my Lion," Keith skidded around a corner and into the docking bay where Red was waiting for him, Lance's Lion sitting beside her, "I'm not sure what to do about Blue though."

"If you can make it to your Lion, the Blue Lion will follow Lance to the Castle," Allura cut in, concern weighing in her voice, "I will have Coran prepare a healing pod."

There was a muffled "right away, Princess" in the back and Keith only felt a little better. A healing pod was going to be a waste of time if Lance bled out on the way back.

When they were both safely (or, as safe as they could be, considering Lance's condition) inside the cockpit, Keith hurriedly tugged the first-aid kit out from under the pilot's chair. He flipped it open, and immediately let out a long string of profanities. He had no fucking clue how to read Altean and none of the labels meant anything to him.

He pulled out a spray bottle, a few syringes, and a bottle of something blue and jiggly, before finally finding a roll of thick gauze stuffed in the bottom of the case. Thankfully, he did know how to use that.

Everything was slick with blood - his gloves, his armor, the floor - and it was hard to get a grip on anything. It took Keith longer than it should have to get the gauze wrapped tightly enough against Lance's side, and it wasn't the most professional job, but for now it would have to do.

He slid into the pilot's seat and began pressing controls left and right. Beneath him, Red had begun a quiet humming, flooding Keith's mind with what felt like consolation.

"Don't just sit here babying me. Fucking go!" He snapped, yanking back on the joysticks and flooring the acceleration pedal.

The Red Lion shot off into the air, Blue following close behind her. He wasn't even focused on flying, every other second he'd turn around in his seat looking over his shoulder at Lance. He hadn't even so much as twitched.

When they made it back to the Castle, Keith had shot out of his chair and hurried to Lance's side before his lion even finished opening her mouth. Lance was still lying on his side on the floor, one arm draped over his side. Blood had long since soaked through the bandages and the thick red had begun coating the vambraces of his armor.

Keith pressed two fingers to Lance's neck, desperately searching for any kind of pulse. It was faint and erratic, but it was a pulse nonetheless. He pulled Lance's right arm up around his shoulder and stood up carefully, his other arm holding onto Lance's belt.

There was a collective gasp when Keith and Lance finally stepped out into the light of the hanger. Everyone was gawking at him like he was some caged animal in a zoo.

"Keith..." Allura was almost beside herself with shock when he made it down from the ramp, "what in the name of Altea happened to you?"

"What happened to me...?" Keith felt like someone had just snapped a rubber band inside him. He could feel himself snarling - his lips curling back in a feral, furious display of sharp canines, "what happened to - forget what's happened to me! Lance is hurt! He's got a fucking hole in his stomach and you're worried about _how I look_?"

He adjusted his grip on Lance's shoulder, pulling him higher up on his side to keep him from slipping, and continued walking to the medical bay. Everyone took a step back, and suddenly the room reeked of fear, thick and sour. It made Keith's nose burn. The small crowd parted for him; his eyes narrowed and his ears flattened against his hair and he walked through the middle.

Shiro took a step towards him, but whether it was to help him carry Lance or to do something else, Keith didn't care. He shot a hard glare over his shoulder and the room pulsed. An invisible wall shot up behind Keith and Shiro slammed right into it; he fell back onto the floor, shaken.

Keith kept walking, forcing himself not to show the sudden guilt he felt for resisting Shiro, or how much he was panicking about Lance. He kept walking until the door of the hangar shut behind him, and he no longer felt the team's eyes boring into his back.

Then he ran.

He swept Lance up off the ground and into a bridal carry, and broke into a half-jog-half-run for the medical bay. He tried to keep his arms as steady as he could, but suddenly Lance let out a breathy groan into the side of Keith's neck, and any inhibitions had been thrown out the window.

Keith skidded into the infirmary and elbowed the controls for one of the pods. It rose up out of the floor in a hiss of steam, cold and inviting. Keith worked at the clips on Lance's armor with desperate hands - all the pieces clamored onto the floor in a pile around his feet.

The pod accepted Lance with a quiet hiss as it closed around him, and Keith's knees felt like jello. The line on the heart rate monitor was slow and its waves were shallow, but it was still moving, still there. Lance's brow was no longer tight knit in pain, blood was no longer running freely from his side. He was going to make it.

Keith took a breath, now acutely aware of his reflection in the fogged-up glass of Lance's pod. He studied himself in the glass, focusing on the side of himself that he was convinced he'd finally forgotten. His mother's magic had been strong, and even when he'd begun experimenting with his own magic, he'd never been able to even budge whatever spell she'd used to make him human (not that he'd want to. Fighting Galra for so long had given him a certain distaste for his own blood).

His skin had gone some dark shade of mauve, even his hair was tinted a black-purple color. His ears had moved up to the top of his head, spurting out of his hair like a cat's. He lifted his lip up and stared at the sharp teeth that barred out of his gums like a dog's. Even his eyes had changed - pupil-less and a pale shade of yellow that seemed to glow under the castle's lights. Red lines flowed down his face from his forehead, cutting across his eyelids, running parallel down his cheeks and jaw - like every other Galra druid, like his mother's, like Haggar's.

The spell had worn off on more than just his skin, it had even brought back his Galran physiology - which he had definitely forgotten how to live with. The lights were much too bright and he found himself squinting; somewhere in the large space, an air vent turned on and his ear twitched as though someone had blown in it. He inhaled through his nose casually and he could smell the unease of his teammates in the ship's cycled air (his Survivalist Studies teacher at the Garrison had told the students that some animals can smell fear, Keith hadn't believed that until now.).

He could even smell himself. Not the odor of stale sweat and forgetting to shower last night. No, he smelled of Lance, of the sharp, coppery tang of blood, and of the fading scent of adrenaline. Even under all that, was the stench of his own fear.

Keith swallowed, biting down hard on his lip to repress the urge to punch the glass in front of him. He swallowed down the blood that began to bubble up under his teeth.

_Promise me that you will stay safe. Do not tell anyone who you are or where you come from._

_I promise, Mother._

"Sorry, Mom," he mumbled under his breath as he walked back to his room.

* * *

His parents had always taught him that eavesdropping was extremely rude, and in their current time of war, it was dangerous. But Khrethir couldn't help it, not this time anyway.

He'd been going back to his bedroom from the bathroom when a loud knock on the front door froze him in his steps. He heard his parents walking for the door, and he pressed himself behind his bedroom door. The last thing he wanted was one of the other officers catching him sneaking around his his nightclothes.

The door to their small apartment slid open, and his parents looked somewhat taken aback by their sudden guest; a gravelly voice greeted them, "Captain Thace. Raelka."

"Haggar," his father said, and his mother nodded respectfully, "we were not expecting you. I hope that your stay on the ship has been - "

"I have something I must discuss with you urgently."

"Of course," his father stepped to the side, nodding curtly and gesturing a hand to the small sitting room, "please."

The door to his bedroom was only half open, but through the small crack, he could see Haggar standing in the middle of the sitting area; his parents took a seat on the edge of a large ottoman.

His mother took his father's hand in her lap - she was shaking, "what brings you here at such a late hour?"

"It is your son."

Khrethir had to cover his mouth with his hand, he was scared he was breathing too loudly. He had met Haggar on a few occasions, and each time he felt fear rising in his chest around her. It terrified him to think that she had caught him listening in (but with her magic, it wouldn't be surprising).

Haggar, apparently, had not noticed him. She continued speaking, her rough voice flat, but deadly serious, "the Druids of the Four Directions and I have discovered something in the portends. Something dark."

Both his parents spoke at the same time, and both equally worried, "what have you seen?"

For a moment, Haggar looked like she was about to sigh, but then he remembered that she was not capable of even such base displays of emotion. She stood up a little straighter, and put on her usual scowl, "he is to become one of the five Paladins of Voltron."

His mother let out a high-pitched gasp and buried her head in his father's neck. Her shoulders shook with her sobs; one hand was still squeezing her husband's, the other was pressed against her mouth in shock. His father was rubbing her back, glaring at Haggar in disbelief.

In his hiding spot, it felt like he was going to faint, and he had to put a hand agains the wall next to the door to steady himself. Of course Khrethir knew what Voltron was, it seemed to be the driving force behind everything the Emperor did, but it had been dead for thousands of years. Hadn't it?

Voltron and its Paladins were enemies of the Galra from long ago, from the time of the Altean betrayal. But the Paladins had all been killed and Voltron itself had disappeared. They were only stories, nothing more.

Haggar spoke again, her voice heavy with the weight of her words, "he will be responsible for the resurrection of our greatest enemy. He will be a part of the destruction of the Galra Empire."

"That - that can't be. Not our son," his mother was crying almost inconsolably against his father. She threw her head up, looking at Haggar with far too much pain in her eyes. Her voice cracked and then shrank down to a hoarse whisper, "not Khrethir. H-He would never - "

"It was been foretold," the witch snapped with such finality that his mothers cries fell silent, "Emperor Zarkon will know of it by morning. It will be a shame to lose one so promising, he would have made a powerful druid."

Haggar turned and walked to the door; this time, his father did not hold it open for her. Neither of his parents were looking at her, instead staring down at the floor, as if the answer to their problems would suddenly appear in the metal.

The door slid open, but Haggar paused halfway across the threshold. She looked back over her shoulder at where his parents remained sitting, "you are both loyal to the Empire. Our great emperor will not hold your son's fate against you."

The door slid shut with a hiss and a click. And then there was only the sound of his mother's sobs.

Khrethir's heart fluttered in his chest. This couldn't be real, it wasn't true. How could it be? Voltron had been destroyed over ten thousand years ago, the Paladins were long dead. He couldn't be one of them - he was loyal to the Galra. He'd pledged himself to Zarkon on his thirteenth birthday with all the other officers' children. When he turned fifteen, he would join the druids and study magic, he would take his mother's place amongst Haggar's circle. He was not a Paladin.

"Zarkon will have him killed for this!" His mother's voice was strained, and she choked on her words as she sobbed, "and we...what will we do?"

"He is our son. No matter what, we must keep him safe. I will not let _anything_ happen to our child, Raelka. I swear it."

* * *

 

Keith was in no mood for any more of this universe's shit tonight. He was tired, and reeked of blood and sweat - he needed a shower and to lock himself in his room for the next ten years. He could feel a thousand eyes on him, though he knew there weren't any there, and his emotions wanted to break out and run rampant.

He rounded the corner to the hallway just before his room and someone called his name from down the hall. He looked up, and had to bite his lips together to keep from growling in irritation. Shiro and Allura were standing by his door, both of them looking somewhere between suspicious and concerned.

Keith shot them a dark look, hoping that it would get them to maybe leave him alone. It didn't - it only got them to advance towards him.

"Keith," Shiro took a step closer, but the slight lilt in his shoulders told Keith that he still wanted to keep his distance, "what really happened out there?"

"We aren't placing any blame on you," Allura said, gently, "we just want to know."

It felt like someone had punched him in the chest. He'd spent the last several years pretending to be who he wasn't. He'd promised to keep his real identity a secret, he'd promised to hide, and he'd promised himself he'd never get close enough to anyone long enough to let them know. His whole life had been lived on a cautious edge, sharpened by the fear that he'd be killed once the truth got out.

But now, he deflated like a balloon torn down the side. Keith let out a terse sigh, "I was born on the Galra home world. My father was a captain in Zarkon's Imperial Army, and my mother was one of Haggar's druids."

He looked back and forth between Allura and Shiro, waiting for the lashing out that never came. There was a hard dissatisfaction in his expression at having to give up the truth that he'd spent so long protecting.

Shiro look dumbfounded, "but when I met you, you were living in that little shack in the desert. You were human."

"When I was thirteen, my father was promoted, and we were relocated to the _Adumbrate_ , under Commander Prorok. It was a big deal, and my mother and I were so proud of him," Keith looked down at the floor, trying to focus on the details of his boots rather than the details of his sob story, "about a year in, I overheard Haggar talking to my parents one night. She was telling them about this...prophecy, I guess, that her and the other druids saw. About Voltron. About me being a Paladin. They knew that I'd be executed for treason if Zarkon found out, so they stole a pod and flew off to the nearest planet: Earth. My mother put some spell on me to make me look human, and then they left. Just like that. I never saw them again."

Allura gave him an apologetic look and a quiet, "I'm so sorry that had to happen to you" under her breath. Keith hated pity, but he wouldn't deny Allura her consolation - hindsight told him he would thank her for it later. Shiro was looking at him with the same soft, unreadable expression he'd worn the whole time, but he wasn't angry or frightened, which was a victory however minor.

When Kieth looked back up at them, Allura was looking at him quizzically, one eyebrow arched, "you said your mother was a druid? Does that mean you can use the Galra's magic too?"

He nodded, shrugging half-heartedly, "yeah, although I never actually got my formal training. I can do a lot of things with it, but nothing anywhere near the level of magic that Haggar and her druids have."

Shiro shifted on his feet anxiously, "what _can_ you do?"

Keith took a breath, and his eyes began to glow a deep gold. He held out his right hand and immediately thin black wisps started weaving around his fingers like dark silk. The lights in the hall flickered and twitched for a few moments before going out one by one; a thin stream of light poured out of the edges like spilt water. The individual lights ran all around the hall like rivers, all coming together in the center of Keith's palm.

A ball of light formed in Keith's hand like a tiny sun, pulsing and rippling delicately. The black swirls twisted up and down along his wrist and hand, coming up to lap around the sides of the floating light, than snaking back down around his fingers.

Shiro and Allura were both in some state of shock and awe as they watched, and Keith had a good guess why. All they'd seen of Galra magic was how nightmarish it could be - turning the simplest of animals into a demonic Robeast, or as another destructive force that could effortlessly suck the life out of entire planets. They hadn't seen the calmer side to it - they didn't know how renowned the druid healers were at saving people with their magic, or how someone could create beautiful displays with a simple flick of their fingers.

Keith twisted his hands closed, smothering the ball of light until the whole corridor was pitch black, save for the glow from his eyes. After a quick second, he opened his hands, and the light streamed out of his hands in little rivers again, flowing back to their respective places. The glow in his eyes faded away, the black wisps twisted themselves back into his skin, and Keith was left looking up at Allura and Shiro, feeling both proud of himself and terrified of them at the same time.

"How did you do that?" They blurted out in unison.

"There wasn't a whole lot to do alone in the middle of nowhere...so, I just taught myself," Keith said, like it was the most benign of concepts.

If Allura had a seat, she surely would have been on the edge of it, "you've had this power the whole time?"

"It's not something you can just be taught, you have to be born with it. Whichever parent has magic, they pass it down to their oldest child - I got my mother's magic. When the children turn fifteen, they get sent off to learn how to use their powers," Keith shrugged and crossed his arms, "like I said, they left when I was fourteen. I had to learn on the fly."

There was a tense silence between them. Keith realized he was still in his bloodied armor, covered in both Lance's and his own blood. He'd forgotten all about the cut on his forehead from earlier - the few hours prior now felt like they'd happened decades ago. Even now, he'd only remembered it when a muscle in his forehead twitched and he felt the hair matted to his skin. The tiredness that had been hiding in his bones was trying to pull him down to the floor, and he wanted nothing more than to take a shower and a nap.

"I'm going to my room now," he said, perhaps with a bit more snap in it than he had intended, and stepped between Allura and Shiro like they were a pair of swinging doors.

"Keith, wait," Allura took a step after him, putting her hands on his shoulders and spinning him around to face her.

She took a deep breath before speaking, and when she began, Shiro look like he'd walked into that invisible wall again.

Her Galran was more than a little rusty - certain words had the stress on the wrong syllable, her accent made it sound far too soft and oddly poetic, and she spoke in a much more formal dialect than what Keith had grown up hearing - but he could still understand her well enough.

Understanding the word themselves was one thing, but understanding their meaning made Keith's heart clench. She assured him that who he was didn't matter, that the blood in his veins didn't matter, that whether or not he had druid magic didn't matter. He was still a Paladin of Voltron, and more importantly, he was a part of this team, and that was what mattered.

She reminded him of his mother - all iron skin and hard set eyes, but with a giant's heart.

Something coiled up inside his chest - maybe it was some sense of self pity, or maybe it was some asinine homesickness, but Keith neither knew nor cared. The recurring idea of locking himself up alone in his room for the next twenty-four hours had been lingering in the back of his mind this whole time, and now was his chance to act on it.

He thanked Allura dryly (in English) and gave Shiro a passing nod as the door to his room slid open; he walked inside without any protest from either of them, and the door slid closed silently.

Over the hum of the ship and even through the metal walls, Keith could still faintly hear the other two sets of footsteps. He stood in the middle of his room, ears straining, until he was positive that Allura and Shiro had gone.

Whatever it was in his chest that had been wrapping itself up earlier suddenly unraveled like a released spring. Whether or not it had been anger before, it was certainly anger now. He drove his fist into the wall without even stopping to think about it, the metal beneath his knuckles denting with a low groan.

His whole arm stung with the impact and something warm was wetting the wall beneath his fist. He couldn't feel his knuckles anymore, and when he pulled his hand away from the wall, his fingers refused to uncurl.

He cradled his hand to his chest, indifferent to the pain that had blossomed in his hand. Keith's knees dropped to the floor like a sack of rocks - the rest of his body following, until his forehead rested against the cold ground.

The back of his eyes burned and his throat was tight. His breaths stayed stuck in his lungs and no matter how hard he tried, it felt like he was going to suffocate. He bit his lip until if felt swollen because there was no way in hell he was going to sit in his room and cry.

Something dark tore at the back of his mind. What would Lance say? He had no idea what had happened, he'd just walk out of the healing pod and - surprise - his boyfriend is a Galra. Keith's skin went icy at the thought of Lance - temper flaring and eyes infuriated - as he walked out of Keith's life with an obstinate "we're through".

Whatever emotions he had been holding back finally won over. Anything he'd been trying to repress broke loose as Keith choked on the sobs that wrenched their way from his throat.

_Be strong, my son._

"Fuck..."

* * *

 

Khrethir's legs trembled as he picked himself up off the mats again, panting as he wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his forearm. His knife was still laying across the room from where his father had knocked it out of his hand just moments ago. After that, it hadn't been long before he'd been thrown to the ground. They'd been at this for almost three hours now.

"Your form is excellent," his father said as he came over to him, picking his knife up off the floor, "but you focus too much on it. Don't worry about what you are doing, worry about what your opponent is doing."

He held the handle of his son's knife out to him, and Khrethir took it with a tired nod, "yes, Father."

He dropped back into the defensive stance he'd been practicing all morning, his muscles burning as they fell back into a familiar place. His father smiled, placing a hand on his head and playfully ruffling his hair and ears.

"Always so spirited. You get that from your mother," he raised his own sword and took up his own stance across from his son, "we'll have one more go at it, and then we're through for - "

The door to the training room flew open, and suddenly it felt like they were being loomed over.

The blade of his father's sword materialized back into its hilt as he clipped it to his belt. He snapped his heels together, standing ramrod straight and threw his arm across his chest in a salute.

There were resounding footsteps behind him, and when Khrethir turned around, Emperor Zarkon was walking across the room to them, Haggar trailing in his shadow like always. Immediately, he sheathed his dagger and followed his father in salute, trying not to let his embarrassment show.

"Emperor Zarkon," his father greeted formally, "it is an honor, sir."

Zarkon ignored his father without even a parting glance, stepping over to his son instead and pacing in slow, calculated circles around him. He felt like a bug under a boot standing in his emperor's shadow, under his glaring eyes.

"Is this the son I hear so much about?" His voice was like thunder in the open space, full of rancor and scrutiny, "tell me, what is his name?"

His answer was instantaneous, voice crisp and succinct, "Khrethir, my Lord."

Zarkon gave him a dull hum of acknowledgement, but it was Haggar who spoke, "this is Raelka's child, my lord. When he comes of age, and with the right training, he will be as powerful as his mother."

The Emperor was now directly in front of him, towering like a statue above him. Khrethir had never been very tall, and even now he was several inches below Zarkon's shoulder. His presence drowned him out completely, and feeling so insignificant left his skin crawling. From that angle, he could see the the emperor's sharp features - the chiseled angles and the rigid way his face sat. He looked like a gargoyle.

"Will he be?"

He tried not to let the fear in his voice show as he answered his Emperor, "yes, sir."

Zarkon turned to face him, and bent down until their noses were only a few inches apart, "and what will he do with this power?"

"I will serve the empire dutifully until my last breath! Nothing will stop me but triumph or death! I will give my life in the name of Galra, sir!"

There was no hesitation in him this time; he answered firmly and clearly, as he had been taught to do, with the response that he had been conditioned to give since before he could remember. His voice rang off the walls of the sparring room and he could feel the Emperor's, Haggar's, and his father's eyes on him as he held his position.

Zarkon stepped back and smiled, giving them both the curt nod that meant the conclusion of whatever this visit had been. Khrethir and his father clicked their heels together in salute, declaring, " _Vrepit sa_!" in perfect unison. Zarkon and his witch turned and walked from the training room emotionlessly, although they held their salute until the door closed.

When they were both at ease he turned back to his father, "the Emperor didn't seem pleased."

"Emperor Zarkon is hard to please," his father remarked, somewhat pointedly.

After a moment, he smiled at his son and drew his sword again, resuming the stance he'd been holding earlier. Khrethir followed suit and drew his own dagger, falling once more into the position they'd been practicing all afternoon.

"Once more," his father said, "try and focus only on me."

* * *

Keith dodged to the left, raising his sword right before the Gladiator's staff came down where his head had been. He was tired of jumping around, but he couldn't seem to find a opening. He lunged at the robot's side, but it parried his blade hard enough to send him sprawling out on the floor.

"End...sequence," he ordered between pants.

Across the room, the Gladiator froze it whatever its last position it had held. Keith rolled himself onto his stomach and propped himself up on his hands and knees. Everything stung - his lungs, his muscles, his bones - it hurt to even pick himself up this much.

Keith picked his bayard up off the floor and used it as a crutch to get back on his feet. A rather large blister had formed in the flesh between his right thumb and pointer finger. He switched his sword to his other hand and although wasn't as adept with his left hand as he was with his right, he could still fight fine with it. And, as long he was in the training room, it was a good excuse to practice.

He'd just caught his breath when the door slid open. His nose twitched - a familiar scent of ivory soap, the inside of a cockpit, and something nameless that reminded him of Earth. Of course Shiro had come to give him another talk.

"Keith," Shiro began with that let-me-try-and-help-you tone, "you need to give yourself a break."

"I'm fine. Restart sequence three."

The Gladiator sprung to life again, resuming its attack. It swung it's staff back and forth in wide arcs as it ran at Keith, sending him ducking and staggering backwards. He tried to get in a few jabs in between sweeps, but they all missed.

"Keith, come on. Don't be like that."

The drone swung its leg out low, and Keith had to jump over it to avoid being kicked over. When his feet hit the floor, his knees buckled and he somersaulted clumsily to the side. The Gladiator stabbed its staff down into the floor by Keith's head, narrowly missing one of his ears. The drone raised it's weapon for another jab and Keith brought his sword up in front of his face to block, but nothing happened.

"Shiro, what the fuck?" he snapped, although without any real rancor.

Shiro was standing over him, his metal hand having grabbed the Gladiator's staff before it could come down on Keith again. He shoved the drone away from the both of them, watching it in case it decided to charge again.

"End sequence," he barked, and the Gladiator froze again.

Shiro turned his attention back to where Keith was still laying on the ground and held out a hand to help him up. Keith eyed his hand skeptically, some small part of him hoping that if he ignored it, it would go away. But the hand remained, so he took it. Although when he stood, he leaned on Shiro a little more than he would have liked.

"I was about to block that," he said, again trying to make his voice harder than it actually was, "you didn't have to jump in and save me."

"Keith, look at yourself. You're driving yourself into the ground going on like this. Flying unail you pass out, all-nighters in the gym, and then you're in here training for hours on end - you have to take a break. When was the last time you slept for more than an hour? Hell, when was the last time you ate something other than a protein bar?"

Keith opened his mouth to protest, but then he realized he had nothing to argue. He really didn't remember the last time he'd slept or ate, or even sat down to stop and catch his breath. He looked down at his feet, feeling both guilty and entirely exhausted.

"I know it's been a hard week for you - I really do," Shiro continued, voice softer and more empathetic, "and I know how worried you are about Lance. We all are. But we're also all worried about you."

That made Keith's ears twitch. At first, he looked like he was about to get angry - his feline ears standing up on the top of his head and then beginning to fold back against his head. His lips had just begun to curl up when he stopped. He had no anger, no rage, no fury, left to give.

Shiro was right (as per usual), and Keith knew it. He'd let fear of Lance's rejection - which a large part of him knew probably would never come, simply because it was _Lance_ \- tear him apart. He needed to stop wasting his time on tears.

Keith took a step back, reaching down to pick up his bayard, before giving Shiro a worn down look, "I'm going to take a shower."

He turned and headed for the door, still watching his feet.

"Don't just lock the rest of us out. We're all here for you, Keith," Shiro called across the room to his back, in that older-brotherly tone he took up whenever there was a serious moment, "please don't be afraid to talk to us."

Keith kept walking like he hadn't heard him. He had, though, and it made his lungs tighten at the thought that for once in his life he had people who wanted to help him. But he continued up to his room anyway, pretending like he didn't want to punch the wall and cry again.

Even the shower he'd been looking forward to didn't help. He took the first half of it cold because something about cold showers seemed to help him unwind; when that failed, he turned the water up to hot, hoping to work out the ache that had planted itself in all his muscles. That hadn't helped either, and he shut the water off testily.

Keith dressed quickly, yanking on his pants and shirt, hopping around on one foot while he struggled to jam his shoe on the other foot (then letting out an exasperated huff and repeating). He reached for where his jacket was thrown on the foot of his bed, and simply restored to throwing on the first thing his hands touched.

He stepped out into the hallway and threw his jacket on, stopping mid-step when the soft fabric touched his skin. This jacket was much too large to be his - the pockets hung down by his belt, the sleeves came down over his hands, and Keith had never owned anything with a hood. He looked down at the green canvas and felt like the protagonist in a cliché romance movie.

He'd grabbed Lance's jacket.

Keith took a breath and felt almost homesick. The jacket was dipped in Lance's scent. Not like before when he'd been covered in blood and sweat and fighting for their lives. No, this was the scent of the weird soap Lance had bought at some trading post that smelled like fruit and sandalwood, of the bubble clay mask he wore once a week, of the gentle musk in his deodorant.

The tightness in his chest was back as Keith was slammed with the fact that he hadn't been to visit Lance once.

He'd meant to, he always told himself that it would be the next thing he'd do after he finished whatever he was doing. But then he'd find some other burden to shoulder, and it would get moved down another notch on the list.

He was almost disgusted with himself - being so selfish and focusing on distracting himself that he didn't even stop to think about Lance.

Keith's feet moved on their own, not even waiting for his brain to catch up. Before long, he was racing through the castle to the healing pods. Something childish and naive in him was hoping that Lance's pod would open the second his foot crossed the threshold, but the realist in him swallowed that down with his pride.

The soles of his shoes squeaked on the metal floor when he skidded to a stop in the entrance of the healing pods' chamber, claws catching on the lip of the doorframe to slow himself. Call it bitter intuition, but the realist had been right. Lance was not climbing out of the pod at his arrival; he was still asleep, floating in the faint blue glow, behind a layout of vital signs.

Keith crossed the room soundlessly to stand in the shadow of the healing pod. Goosebumps prickled up all across his skin, although whether they were from the temperature of the room or from anxiety, Keith wasn't sure. He'd never been the sentimental type, especially now when he was a bundle of over-wound nerves.

That didn't stop him from bringing a hand up and laying his palm flush against the pod's glass. It vibrated softly beneath his touch, although the glass itself was tepid, he could feel the icy air circulating behind it. He pressed his forehead into the glass after his hand, subconsciously matching his own breathing to that of the pod's ventilator.

"I'm sorry I wasn't here sooner." Keith's voice echoed in the large room; for a moment he didn't even recognize it as his, "I just - there's something - we need to talk about - I have to tell you - fuck!"

Keith pressed the heels of his palms to his eyes and paced in front of Lance's pod, angry at no one but himself. Even now, when he was practically talking to himself, he couldn't do it. Lance probably couldn't even hear him.

He took a deep breath and stopped pacing, planting himself firmly in front of the pod. This discussion needed to be had at some point or another, and Keith had always been better at ripping off the metaphorical band-aid. That still didn't make it easy though.

Keith took his hands off his eyes and jammed them in to pockets of his borrowed jacket, one hand bumping against Lance's iPod and balled up headphones.

"I know I should have told everyone sooner, but I was scared. I thought you all would hate me, and I didn't want to risk losing anther family. But when I saw you get hurt like that...it just happened."

He paused; even when Lance was unresponsive, the words stubbornly refused to leave his lips. Keith pushed the words out, forcing himself to say them, as if getting them out faster would magically solve his problem.

"Lance, I'm a Galra. And not by any weird experiments or freak accidents, I mean a real Galra. I lived on a battlecruiser for a year, Galran is my first language, I still know the words to the imperial anthem! I've saluted _Zarkon himself_ , and I - " His voice cracked and faded off into something of a half-hysterical laugh, "and I'm supposed to keep all this a secret, but I can't anymore. My whole life was hide or die - and now it's _not_ \- and I just don't know what to do now."

There was no answer, no magical advice came raining down upon him, not even a snappy comeback. The air conditioner turned on again, the heart rate monitor beeped placidly, a metal panel settled with a quiet creak. Silence.

Talking hadn't helped Keith any - it probably aggravated him more, considering that his audience was unconscious. He chewed his lip and flopped down on the ground, drawing his knees up to his chest, and leaning against the back of the pod. Curling into a ball, Keith dug his chin into his knees and wrapped his arms around his legs.

Shiro's words were bouncing around the back of his mind like a slow game of Pong. _Please don't be afraid to talk to us._

"Bullshit," Keith mumbled into the sleeve of Lance's jacket.

* * *

At first, he'd been excited to accompany his mother through Galra central command. It was the center of the entire military, filled with the highest ranked officers and the Druids of the Four Directions, and the emperor himself. It was where every soldier dreamed of getting assigned to.

The _Adumbrate_ had been called back for the usual reasons: any needed repairs, resupplying, the senior officers and Commander Prorok delivering their reports to the brass, etc. But barely an hour after they'd docked, his mother had been sent a message that Haggar needed to see her as soon as possible. And to bring Khrethir.

He followed behind his mother as they walked through the command center's lower levels. These corridors were darker than the rest, and Khrethir was completely unaware there were even floors this far down.

He'd never met Haggar in person, but he'd heard stories of her and of her wicked experiments. His parents talked about her when they were alone and Khrethir could hear them through the door; his father, like most of the other officers, didn't find her very appealing, although his mother seemed to have somewhat mixed views.

They passed a guarded hallway as they went, and he caught a glimpse of the rows of prison cells that lined each wall. The door to one of the cells slid open and a druid walked out, supposedly unaware that whoever had been in the cell behind them was screaming. A shiver went down Khrethir's back, but he made the effort not to let it show. Of course Haggar would pick the most disturbing place on the whole center to work from.

His mother stopped in front of a huge door - the metal was worn and tarnished but the Galra insignia in the center was pristinely embossed and glowing.

She turned back to her son. "Wait outside for me. I will let you know when we are ready," she told him, her voice tired, but soft.

"Yes, Mama."

She pulled the hood of her robes up over her head until the hem hung down to her eyes, but she paused before putting on her mask. The door before them pulled itself open a few feet with a loud grinding noise.

"No matter what happens today, please know this," she bent down and kissed the top of his hair, "I am grateful to have you as my child. I will always be proud of you."

If she had been crying, he couldn't tell. She stepped back, hastily put her mask on, and walked through the doors into the observatory. The doors closed with a tinny slam that shook the walls of the hall, leaving Khrethir standing alone under the glow of the Galra insignia.

He looked around the long corridor for anything that might bring him company, but the only other people nearby were the sentries guarding the prison cells, and he knew better than to try and talk to an on-duty guard.

Instead, he leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes, meditating like his mother had taught him. He could feel the magic in his veins, the roiling energy working its way through every fiber in his body like snakes in the water. It was weak now - he'd only ever practiced when his mother had shown him the most basic exercises - but he had been told time and time again that it would go more powerful.

The door ground open again and his mother stepped out. He wouldn't have known it was her if she hadn't spoke - all the druids looked alike in their robes and masks.

"We are ready for you now."

Khrethir followed his mother once more, stepping from the hallway and into the druid's observatory. The walls were lined with shelves and shelves of containers of more things than he could possible count. There were only two lights in the room, one on either side of the door, but the gentle glow that came off the barrels of liquid Quintessence provided enough light. The ceiling on the observatory was a large glass dome that took up both the top and one of the side walls.

Haggar was pacing a circle around the lowered space in the floor and she motioned for Khrethir to step into the center of the room. His mother did not follow, instead stepping to the side and standing by the door dutifully.

"Tell me, _Khrethir_ ," the witch's voice was eerily smooth in the dark lighting of the room, and the emphasis she put on his name made something in him curdle. Haggar cocked her head up, her eyes glowing beneath her hood, "do you have your mother's magic?"

"Yes."

She walked over to a shelf lined with several rows of glass vials; some were empty but most were filled with Quintessence. The blue and white streaks of light swirled around the inside of their containers, all freshly sucked from some helpless victim and concentrated.

"Let us see this magic you have inherited," she crooned.

Haggar slammed the vial onto the floor, sending glass and Quintessence flying out in all directions. Streaks of blue and white slammed around the room, knocking over other containers and ricocheting around the room like reckless comets.

A few of the glowing orbs hit Khrethir, and some bounced off the armor of his uniform, but others stung when they hit off his skin. From her place by the door, his mother made a move to try and help him. Haggar put a hand up to stop her and picked up an empty container from a shelf.

"You will return the Quintessence," she ordered coldly, as though nothing out of the ordinary was happening.

He had thought Haggar was a little crazy before, but now he was certain she might actually be insane. Regardless, he obeyed.

He closed his eyes and slowed his breathing like he had earlier, feeling the power coiling and uncoiling itself under his skin. His hands felt like they were buzzing and the floor seemed to melt away under his feet. He held his hands out to his sides and tried to focus on each individual piece of Quintessence.

It was hard at first - there had been too many moving too fast to single out just one - but he finally found one that he could latch his mind onto. After that, he picked up on one after another until he could keep more than half in his mind at a time.

When he opened his eyes, he was so shocked he almost lost any progress he'd made.

All the Quintessence that had been flying around the observatory was now concentrated around him, swirling in a slow hurricane with Khrethir in the middle. His eyes glowed exactly like his mother's did, and there where soft black wisps weaving around his hands like smoke.

Haggar was talking to him, but he ignored her. He was too focused on what he'd just done, and what he still had to do. The witch was holding the empty vial out to him, an expectant expression on her dark face.

Carefully, he held his hands out in front of him, trying to direct as much energy as he could at pushing the spinning Quintessence toward Haggar. The shocking part was that it was actually working. The little balls of light stopped swirling around him and started advancing towards her.

He reached out to the little fragment he'd mentally grabbed hold of earlier and started edging it towards the open canister and it began to gravitate there. Then another followed, and another, and another, until all the Quintessence was flying into the container like a vacuum was sucking it in.

The lid soon closed with a quiet click and the room was dark and pin-drop silent again. He felt numb and cold all over, his ears rang, his head was pounding, and it took all of his remaining energy (which wasn't very much, considering what he'd just done) not to pass out right there. Khrethir felt both his mother's and Haggar's eyes on him; he stood up straighter and held his head up.

"Your mother's magic is strong in your veins," Haggar praised as she resumed walking a circle around him. She turned to his mother, "how old is the boy?"

"As of three cycles ago, he is fourteen."

The witch hummed in approval, or at least, what sounded like approval.

She stopped her pacing in front of Khrethir and turned to face him. He felt like a show animal before a judge, a prized livestock being looked over before selling to the highest bidder. He didn't move a muscle.

"Bring him to me when he is ready," she smiled, and Khrethir felt a shiver run through his spine, "he will make an excellent druid."

* * *

 

Keith didn't know he'd fallen asleep until he'd been woken up. The pod behind him had begun to stir, the glass materializing down into the base. It beeped at him once or twice, telling him that whoever was inside was coming out.

That's right. Lance.

Keith jumped to his feet and hurried around to the front of the healing pod and stood expectantly in the small cloud of cold steam. His nerves were buzzing like a swarm of wasps. This was it. This was the moment of truth. Lance would come out of that pod and he would see Keith for what he really was.

The pod opened up and Lance stumbled out gracelessly into Keith's waiting arms. He blinked his eyes open slowly, mumbling something incoherent into the collar of a familiar canvas jacket. The arms around him helped hold him steady as he tried standing, and he immediately knew who was there with him.

He took a step back - fully prepared for another one of Keith Kogane's Famous Speeches on his reckless abandon, how careful he needed to be in the future, and how worried the team had been for him - and promptly screamed.

The lights in the infirmary had dimmed in the later hours, but even in the darkened room he'd recognize the big ears, the glowing yellow eyes, the purple skin. He was standing utterly vulnerable before the enemy, barely even conscience enough to remember his middle name, and alone with a Galra, claws and all.

Lance tripped on his own feet and fell flat on his back with an awkward thud, scrambling away from Keith in a flail of arms and legs, "Galra! Oh my God, there is a Galra - "

Keith held his hands up in surrender, hoping the passivity would get the other paladin to stop screaming, "Lance, it's me - "

"- in the castle! Allura! Shiro! Guys, there's - "

"It's Keith! It's _me_ , Lance!"

This wasn't working, Keith thought with the utmost sense of dread, it was all going downhill too fast. He'd known this would happen, part of him had even been expecting it. But something about one of his worst fears actually happening made the experience seem substantially more surreal than he had originally thought.

"- get the Lions, there's - " Lance's frantic yelling stopped mid-sentence. He quit scrambling away and froze, halfway up the steps and looking like a fish with a hook caught in its lip. " _Keith_?"

"Yeah," he nodded anticlimactically, dropping his arms and stepping under one of the room's lights so Lance could fully see him.

Lance, who could yammer on and on ceaselessly for hours if given the chance, was speechless. His eyes darted all over Keith, focusing on something for barely second before jumping to something else. His jaw still had yet to pick itself up from the floor.

Keith flattened his ears against his hair (he swore he saw Lance's eyes widen a little), "say something, you're freaking me out like that."

"You're..." Lance swallowed, "you're purple. And your eyes are glowing. And you have cat ears...holy shit, that wasn't a dream."

"What wasn't a dream?"

There was no reply. Hesitantly placing one foot in front of the other, Keith dared to take a step closet to Lance. When the other paladin didn't protest or try to run away again, he took one more step, and another one, until Keith came to sit down on the steps next to Lance. He put his elbows on his knees and looked down at Lance, who was still half-sprawled, half-laying out across the steps.

"What wasn't a dream?" He repeated.

"Well, not to sound like a soap opera or anything," Lance let out a breathy laugh, the kind that sounded like even he found it hard to believe what he was saying, "but I could hear you while I was out. Like, I could hear what you said."

Keith blanched. He could feel the blood drain from his face and his stomach did an unwelcome flip, "you what..?"

"Yeah, I know, it's really weird. At first I was all 'wow Lance, this is a really screwed up dream, thinking your boyfriend is a Galra'," he shrugged, "guess it was real."

How Lance was taking this so casually was absolutely beyond Keith. Not five minutes ago, he'd been downright terrified, squirming away and screaming like a mouse in a snake pit. Now, it seemed that Lance was taking it all in stride, with a smile and a smart quip like he did most everything else. Which failed to explain why Keith could smell his fear like he had everyone else's (what an animalistic concept that turned out to be). It wasn't as strong, however, but it was still there - sickly sweet and rolling in dull waves.

"I don't get it. How are you suddenly so calm?" Keith asked, highly doubtful but keeping his voice at least somewhat level, "you were so scared a minute ago, and now your aren't?"

"Oh no, I'm still terrified," Lance said, completely casual but with the utmost seriousness, "I'm still kinda hoping this is just some weird, post-coma dream that'll go away."

Keith felt as though he'd been blindsided by a train. The fact that Lance was still scared of him was grueling, and to find out that that fear was being shoved under a defense mechanism so simply was...indescribable. His shock must have been palpable because now Lance was kneeling in front of him, one hand on Keith's shoulder.

"But, I'm going to take a shower and get something to eat," he made a move to kiss Keith's lips, but hesitated at the last second and resorted to a chaste peck on the forehead, "if this is still a crazy dream, then we'll be fine. If it isn't then...we'll make it up as we go along."

Lance stood and headed for the doorway, walking out of the infirmary and continuing down the hallway without even a backwards glance.

Keith ran his hands through his hair until the heel of his palms came to rest over his temples; he pressed against them, finding some comfort in the slight pressure. He sighed, swearing in Galra under his breath (one that he had heard his father let slip when he was nine and then was immediately told not to repeat). It was the only thing that felt appropriate to say.

 

Lance was still trying to pull his shirt on over his head when he wandered into the kitchen. He'd been in such a starving rush to get from the shower to the kitchen that getting dressed was the last though on his mind. Or rather, the second to last.

But he was going to think about that. Nope. Any previous life-altering confessions were not going to cross his mind. Because he was going to sit down with a nice bowl of food goo and think about other things.

Like how to get that Cher song out of his head. Or where he'd left his iPod. Or the fact that Keith was now a Galra. With claws and fangs and those freaky glowing cat eyes and bat ears and - absolutely not, he was not going to focus on that.

He clicked the lights on and pulled a bowl from the rack on the wall, walking past Pidge sitting at the island.

"Hey, Pidge," he greeted nonchalantly, pulling one of the food hoses from the wall.

They waved one hand passively, not even looking up from their two laptops, "oh, hey, Lance...Lance, what the fuck man?!"

The sudden shouting made Lance almost drop the bowl on his foot and shot them a what-was-that-for look.

Pidge scoffed at him, "when did you come out of the cryopod? And why are you just now telling anyone?"

He shrugged and squeezed the handle on the hose, "I just got out and all I've done is take a shower. And Keith was waiting for me when I out."

Any flare behind Pidge's next words faded out and any snappy comeback they had been prepared to make went unsaid as they seemed to bristle in their seat, "you already talked to Keith? How did that go?"

"I freaked out at first. I didn't know it was Keith, I thought we were being attacked again," he took a bite of goo, pushing it around in his mouth slowly before swallowing; staring blankly down at his feet the whole time, "I mean, he's still Keith but...it's kinda scary, yanno? I know he's not going to, like, kill us in our sleep or anything, but after fighting the Galra, now it's just...I don't know..."

"Now it's weird having to be so close to one?"

"Yeah."

There was a guilt in Lance's tone that was utterly unbecoming of him. He was walking around in a state of suspended shock. There was suddenly a Galra - or, more accurately, there had been a Galra all along - in their mismatched little family.

"I heard a jumbled up version from Shiro and Allura, so I can't give you any details," Pidge continued, both of their laptops having already fallen asleep on them, "but you should go talk to him. He's been tearing himself up this whole time."

Lance looked up from the ground, his spoon still sticking halfway out of his mouth, "like how?"

"The only way he knows how."

Lance dropped his head back on his shoulders petulantly and groaned loudly, immediately recognizing his boyfriend's habit of trying to train away his problems, "uugghh, Keith..."

He pulled the spoon from his mouth and hastily shoveled the remainder of the food goo into his mouth. One of Pidge's laptops lit back up and they dragged a finger idly across the screen, pulling several small windows out of a side panel and scrolling through them. Each windows was the view from one of the Castle's many security cameras and, though any of the internal cameras were rarely used, they still proved useful in finding people without having to run all over the ship.

"He's on the observation deck," Pidge said, hovering over the image of Keith standing under a giant view screen, displaying whichever galaxy they were flying through.

Lance threw (literally, threw) his dishes into the sink and hurried for the door, calling his thanks over his shoulder as he hustled down the hallway.

At first, he was more than a little peeved - Keith always did stupid shit like this, pulling the lone wolf card, shouldering all the blame and disciplining himself like a drill sergeant. He was glad that the walls didn't have ears because they would have more than a little taken aback by what he'd been saying under his breath.

But the closer he got to the observation deck, the more Lance slowed. His pace went down to a slow walk, his mutterings had become less vehement, and his annoyance had deflated down to somewhat of an understanding. The last thing Keith needed right now was the one person he needed the most flying off the handle at him.

The door was wide open and Lance could see Keith standing on the small, raised platform in the center of the room. He was looking up at the center of the domed view screen, his ears relaxed against his hair and his eyes reflecting the small glow of the galaxy's colorful lights.

Lance rapped a knuckle lightly on the doorframe, "hey you."

One of Keith's ears flicked in his direction and he turned too look at Lance. He pursed him lips together in a way that was both welcoming and apologetic, "how did you know I was here?"

"Pidge told me," he walked up the steps to stand beside Keith, shoving his hands awkwardly in his back pockets, "my jacket looks good on you, by the way."

Keith could feel his cheeks start to burn, but he was glad that his now darker complexion would keep the blush from showing. He looked down and to the left, focusing on a little orange and green cluster of the galaxy that looked something like an eye. Next to him, he could feel Lance shift awkwardly on his feet.

"I never asked you how you were," Keith began, panning his eyes up to the other paladin's stomach, "I'm sorry, I should have - "

"Aww, don't worry about it. See?" Lance pulled the bottom of his shirt up past his ribs. Where the blade of that Galra's sword had been, now there was nothing but a faded, pale line. The skin around it looked as smooth as it had always been, "barely even a scar. I'll put some lotion on it and in a couple weeks it won't even be there."

After another few seconds of an awkward and equally unresponsive silence, Lance realized that his attempt at humor may not have worked out. He looked over at Keith (who'd gone back to staring down at the little galaxy), studying him while he rocked back and forth on his toes.

All things considered, he hadn't changed too much. The purple would take a little while to get used to, and the ears were a new thing, the glowing eyes maybe reminded Lance a little too much of his neighbor's mean old cat, but it wasn't anything he wouldn't get used to in the next couple of weeks. Although, he still had that stupid mullet.

"Sooo...what you said when I was still out," he started, choosing his words carefully, "all that was true?"

Keith didn't look up this time, "all of it."

"Even the part about you speaking Galra? Because that's kinda cool."

Keith turned to face Lance with his eyebrows furrowed in a look of distaste that was aimed solely at himself. The next sentence that came out of his mouth certainly wasn't any language Lance had ever heard. The words were sharp and hard, the syllables unyielding and rough as they rolled off Keith's lips. He spoke it as naturally as he'd spoken English, and somehow made the harsh words sound just as relaxed.

Ironically, it left Lance speechless. He stood there gaping like an idiot for a good, long minute trying to remember how to speak, " _whoa_! Keith that's hella cool! I mean, I have no clue what you just said, but it was still cool."

He reached over and stuck his hand in the pocket of his jacket, wrapping his fingers around Keith's without hesitation and looking at him with a smile across his face. This wasn't his second-guessed kiss from a couple hours ago, he knew what he was doing.

"And, uh," Keith pulled their hands our of the pocket, placing his own hands around Lance's hand and holding it between them, "I can do this."

The black tendrils began swirling out of his fingertips again, coiling and uncoiling around his and Lance's hands. He tried to go easy, taking things slow and measured in the hopes that Lance wouldn't lose it entirely.

The strands pooled together in Lance's palm and swirled together into a little imitation of Saturn. It pulsed in time to its own little beat, speeding up to a humming vibration for a couple seconds and then slowing down to a low thrum, and back up again. The rings spun around at a pace opposite the ball in their center, the strands rising and falling like waves.

A tiny blue light bloomed in the center of the orb and its light shown out through the breaks in the black webbing. It grew larger and brighter until the light was just barely being held by the other magic. Keith widened his eyes and the black wisps seemed to burn away around the blue ball.

In its new found freedom, the blue light grew and grew until it was the size of a baseball. It remained in its place above Lance's skin, shining brightly in the lowlights of the observation deck, until Keith brought one of his hands up to cover it. He picked it up as though it were a material thing, closing his fingers around it until it shrunk away to nothing.

Keith released Lance's hand and looked at him almost expectantly. He was still waiting for the part where Lance blew up on him, called him a freak, hit him, told him to leave and never come back. But again, it never came because Lance was still gaping at him, wide eyed and in the purest state of shock.

"Lance? Come on, say some - "

" _Keith, holy fuck, you're a wizard!!_ "

Now it was Keith's turn to be in shock. He stood there, half frozen while Lance went wildly on and on about what had just happened like an excited child.

It took a long moment for him to finally work out the words, "you mean, you don't hate me right now?"

"Hate you? Of course not! Why the heck would I..." Lance's face fell and the abrupt realization washed over him like a wave pool, "oh..."

"Yeah, 'oh'. This whole time, I figured you'd hate me - all you guys would - because I lied to you this whole time. I mean, Who wants one of the enemy - "

"I don't care that you're a Galra."

" - on their side...what?"

"I don't care. It doesn't matter to me. Well...I mean it does _kinda_ matter, because I pretty sure theres a _lot_ of species differences and I'm, like, 96% sure this makes me a furry, although you aren't a cat so...." Lance's ramblings quickly trailed off and he looked at Keith with an expression somewhere between serious and soft, "but you're still Keith. And I still love you, Galra or not."

He closed the space between them quickly, wrapping his arms around Keith's shoulders and pulling him into his chest. Lance's lips fell perfectly against Keith's temple and he wasted no time placing several gentle kisses there.

Keith buried his face in the curve of Lance's neck and felt like crying. His hands grabbed the fabric of Lance's shirt like he was holding on for dearest life; it was only when his felt the fabric wet beneath him that he realized he was actually crying.

He'd been wrong this whole time. He'd been so blessedly wrong. There hadn't been any screaming, or fighting, or abandonment. Everything was fine; they were fine.

"Thank you, Lance," he whispered, finally feeling freed from the weight that had been crushing him.

"Of course, bud. But you gotta do one thing for me."

Keith looked up from Lance's clavicle and swiped at his eyes with his knuckles, "what's that?"

"Please, please tell me where you learned how to do fucking magic!"

Keith stared at him blankly for a moment before registering that he'd have to tell his story all over again. He suddenly felt like an episode recap, ("Previously on..."), "from my mom. She was a druid. My father was just an officer though."

Lance nodded casually for about half a second before his face lit up entirely - the way he did every time he got another idea. His eyes sparkled and a giant grin opened his face from ear to ear.

"So your mom was a witch? And your dad wasn't?"

"Uh, yeah. Why..?"

Lance's eyebrows shot up and suddenly he was speaking in a horrible imitation of an Irish accent, "Your dad's a Muggle, mam's a witch? Was it a bit of a nasty shock for him when he found out?"

Keith looked at Lance, absolutely and totally lost. He tried to figure out what he'd been talking about, but whatever joke had been there was absolutely lost on him, "Lance, what are you talking about?"

The other paladin squawked in disbelief, looking personally offended, "it's from _Harry Potter_!" Lance nudged Keith with his shoulder, but it didn't seem to help him any, "you've never heard of _Harry Potter_? That's a shame. You're, like, the dictionary definition Gryffindor."

"I...I still have no idea what any of that means..."

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta'd so mistakes are mine. 
> 
> For the record: when Keith spoke Galra, he apologized for not telling Lance sooner, told him how much he means to him, and thanked him for accepting him. Lance also thinks Keith's Galra name sounds like a fancy shampoo line, but loves it all the same (file under: things I forgot to write in, but felt bad leaving out).
> 
> And look, I made my own
> 
>  **[Galra!Keith edits](http://wonkasbadonkas.tumblr.com/post/153132439707/some-galrakeith-edits-for-my-fic-saudade) **
> 
> because I am shameless and have no free time.


End file.
